


Perhaps I shall see that Still the Skies are Blue

by BlackandBlueMagpie



Series: Numberless Forms, Numberless Times [1]
Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - World War I, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-03
Updated: 2016-02-03
Packaged: 2018-05-18 02:10:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5894077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlackandBlueMagpie/pseuds/BlackandBlueMagpie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'Lord Kitchener Wants You'<br/>The posters seem to be everywhere, urging them on. Elias is keen to do his bit, and when he persuades Gabriel to join him at the recruitment office it will set in motion a string of events that will change their lives forever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Perhaps I shall see that Still the Skies are Blue

**Author's Note:**

> As in In Your Best Friends Arms first letter of the names correspond :)

_Gabrielle,_

_I felt I should write you a short letter just to let you know I’ve arrived over here safely. The journey over was rough, many were ill but I thank anyone who’ll listen that Father used to take me out sailing. I know I always complain about him, but he wasn’t all that bad in the end as it turns out._

_There’s not much news yet, but company is good while we wait to learn where we go next._

_I miss you, and look forward to hearing from you very much._

_Yours Faithfully,_

_Elias._

“I got in.” Elias tells him, with a small, proud smile. There’s a pause, a moment of silence in which Gabriel watches his face and chews on his lip.

“I didn’t.” He says eventually. Elias’s face falls, and he lets out a small ‘oh’ in an exhale of breath. “My eyes aren’t- aren’t good enough.”

“What?” It’s still quiet, still in breaths, and Gabriel looks at his feet. “I thought they weren’t getting any worse…”

“I only told you that because I didn’t want you to worry. You do that enough already.”

“How bad?”

“It’s not…”

“How bad Gabriel?” Gabriel sighs, pushing a hand through his hair.

“On the left side there’s no peripheral… If you stand past… Here.” He gestures with his hand, lining it up against the edge of the dark spot. “I wouldn’t be able to tell you were there. On the right I can still see you but it’s in shapes, I couldn’t really tell what you were if I hadn’t seen you already.”

“You should have told me.”

“Yeah? Well it’s not like there’s anything you can do about it!”

“You know if I could I would.” Elias cups his cheek gently, running his thumb along the socket of Gabriel’s eye with a sad look on his face. Gabriel sighs.

“I’ll be alright, it’s not like I’m not expecting it. It’s just what’s going to happen and I can’t stand seeing you with this look on your face…” He lays his hand over Elias’s. “I accepted it long ago, I’ll be alright.”

“What about while I’m away? What’ll you do?”

“I’ll find something useful to do, you know for King and Country. I’ll do farm work or something, they’ll need people.”

 

_Gabrielle,_

_Every time I imagine you reading this letter you’re laughing. Because you were right. I know you usually are, even if you don’t want to admit it._

_Or I don’t want to admit it._

_But you said than damn Browning book would come in useful someday. And you said I’d enjoy it. And I am. Don’t know what possessed me to put it in my bag, perhaps the need to have some part of you near me, a little scrap of your writing, something I knew you held dear to you and had been nice enough to share with me. And I am enjoying it, the words remind me of you. The notes in the margins are going to fade if I keep going over them as much as I do._

_It’s quiet. I’ve had the chance to meet people._

_Claude talks to everyone. He makes jokes because he wants to see us smile. He genuine, he smiles when he sees you and spins tales of home. He seems to have had many conquests, and enjoys their recounting as much as any other. I tell him of how I’ve had no time for such things since we met, how I can’t explain how special you are to me because I can’t. I can’t quite put it into words, every time I try as I sit in this muddy trench by the light of a nearly burnt out candle and I pause and try and finish this letter with something that will explain how I feel I just can’t. I feel I need to somehow, I’ll try. Over and over._

_Yours Faithfully,_

_Elias._

 

The train station is packed, with bodies, cases and emotions. There’s excitement, nervousness, longing. A bitter undertone of sorrow wreathes it all. Gabriel examines the man in front of him, in his khaki green uniform, the brass of his buttons shining against it, though the gold of his hair is hidden beneath his cap. Gabriel’s eyes come to his face again, and the breath he lets out is shaky.

“Every time I imagined this I begged you to stay.” He murmurs. “Now I’m here with all these reasons going round in my head and every single one just seems so selfish.” He presses his lips into a thin line. “They need you.”

“I’ll be back on leave before you know it. And I’ll write you.” Elias tells him.

“I know.” Gabriel nods. “I know. You look really smart.” He says eventually, once their silence becomes overwhelming. He holds out his hand, it’s not the goodbye he’d ever want, it’s not like that of all the couples and families around them, but the best he can do here on the platform. Elias presses their palms together with a small, sad, smile. He’s said goodbye once before, but that was for training. That was when he knew Elias would be coming back.

He shakes his hand shortly, thumb scraping across the back of his knuckles.

“Now go on, go. Before I say something stupid.”

 

_Gabrielle,_

_I hope these letters are reaching you, just right now we seem to be moving so much that I fear they’ll all get lost as we go. It probably seems ridiculous to send you so many, but I miss our conversations, however infuriating. Perhaps I’m just hoping you’ll send as many in return._

_You probably won’t receive any of them until after Christmas at this point, but when you do receive them I suspect most of your cards will be from me this year._

_You’ll probably think them trite, but I see the silks and watercolours and can’t help but think of your artistic ways. Painting during the day, sketching in the evening when the light was bad. Promise me you’re keeping at it, I know you said in your last letter that you’ll be working on a farm come next year, and may not have enough time. But try, I’d hate for your talent to go to waste._

_When you get there you must tell me about it, news from home never fails to lift the spirits of those of us over here. Your Christmas card stays with me always at the moment, in case my day should need brightening._

_I can hear the bells from the town chiming, which means it’s Christmas day. People will be heading to midnight mass now, children will be sleeping. Tomorrow families will share food, give presents. The thought makes me smile, but then I wonder how many are missing someone, how many fathers and brothers and husbands won’t be there. And then I ache, ache with longing to see you again._

_Please keep writing love, and remember that I’m thinking of you always._

_Merry Christmas._

_Elias._

 

He’d left the house today in an attempt to forget. Restless nights are more common now, hands itching for something to do. Then during the day work is dull, his art is fruitless, letters seem almost stale. It always feels like they’re lying to each other.

The late-February air is still cold in his lungs, despite the beginnings of spring flowers blooming in the park, yellows, purples and whites.

He breathes and tries to ignore the way the colours blur together at the edges, like a Monet with its fog.

He breathes and tries to forget that Elias is in the trenches and he isn’t, that he could be anywhere right now, that despite daily letters he still can’t bear his absence.

He breathes-

There’s a white feather in his hands that wasn’t there moments earlier. Gabriel stares at it, light against his fingers, then back up at the woman who gave it to him, a woman who he hadn’t seen coming and whose face tunnels slightly so he’s forced to focus on her alone.

“You aren’t serious?”

“I don’t see any uniform.” She replies tersely, turning back to go about her quest.

“You know nothing about me.”

“Well I know you’re a coward, that’s enough.” Her smile is polite, the fact it’s the only thing in focus right now infuriates him more.

“I enlisted.” He spits, casting the feather to the ground, it settles into the muddy gravel at their feet, stained. “I signed up like all those men over there. They just didn’t want me, you know how much I want to be over there with my brother?”

“Why didn’t they want you then?” She asks, though he can tell she doesn’t believe him.

“Because I can’t see anything on that side of me.” His gesture is a little wide. “Because I’m going blind. So don’t you _dare_ call me a coward. At least I’m working the fields rather than just shaming people into courage like your lot.”

 

_Dear Gabrielle,_

_I don’t ever want to hear you talking like that again. It breaks my heart to think of you so, and when I’m not there to comfort you._

_Nonetheless I will try as best I can to convey all I feel on this sheet of paper. You are the furthest thing from useless there is, I know you are prone to bouts of melancholy but you must believe me when I say that. You have been all but a guiding force to me over this past few years, setting me straight when I stray or become too esteemed. And you produce so many beautiful things, with your music on that old piano that I’m sorry does need tuning, or those sketches you call nothing at all. I keep them with me, and they are most dear because of what they capture. Little forgotten moments that cannot be caught any other way, not in such detail nor fluidity, as if you were there. Photos are too rigid, too staged for that._

_I wondered if, perhaps, you might send me another. Perhaps a daffodil, which I know will be blooming right now. They seem so far away from this muddy trench where everything is brown, or grey._

_As for the war it’s okay that you can’t fight like I am. It doesn’t make you any less valuable to your country. People still need to be fed, the country still needs to run even as we fight out here. That work is far more invaluable than you give credit for, no one would say a farmer is not a valued, if not indispensable member of society. They are a cornerstone, and now, so too are you._

_I wish I could come to you, to hold your face in my hands and to see your eyes, your lips, touch your hair. To soothe you, through your difficulties. You are worth more than just your sight, which I know will mean nothing to you as you go through it, not from me who has no idea what the creeping darkness must be like. But I promise you that you are, and that I will always love you._

_Your Dearest,_

_Elias._

 

He spends his weekends painting, he says it’s for Elias, little paintings of the tulips in the park, the fields he’s digging as they change through the seasons turning to gold, the river, the roses in their garden blossoming pale pinks, autumn leaves falling across pathways. To remind him of home wherever he happens to be, his letters give away nothing. But they’re not, not technically. They’re for the days when it’s light enough for him to paint all the fine details of the flowers and the grass and the rushes. When he can try and forget all this is happening by immersing himself in watercolours and charcoals. He paints Elias’s face now, it’s from memory and he’s horrified to find that he can’t quite remember the exact shade of his eyes, how the light hits his cheekbones or shines off his hair.

The paint splashes the page, marring the line of his jaw. Gabriel groans, knocking his head against the back of the chair he’s sitting on, sketchbook propped on his knee. Elias never lets him do things like this, never lets the paints go near the soft furniture and he feels like maybe he should move.

There’s a knock at the door, and for some reason his heart decides to soar and get his hopes up. He knows it’s not Elias, but his heart tells him that maybe he decided to surprise him. He places his brush in the water and pushes himself up with a sigh.

“Hello-?” He opens the door to a young lad, about 15, in his telegraph uniform, hair almost immaculately pressed down with water. His greeting is interrupted by a rather upset look.

“I can’t keep doing this.” Frederick tells Gabriel as he pushes past him, dumping his satchel on the floor as he makes his way inside. He shouldn’t be doing this, not while he’s still on his rounds, while his bag’s still heavy with letters waiting to be delivered, but the week has necessitated it.

“Doing what?” Gabriel asks, turning as Frederick passes him, with a frown creasing his forehead. Frederick stops by the fireplace and stares at himself in the mirror, removing his hat automatically.

“This job… I can’t keep doing it. I just can’t.” His face in the mirror is drawn, lined with the constant expression of sombre neutrality, in a stark contrast to the laughter lines that he’d once feared ending up with after days’ worth of smiles to return. His eyes are dulled with the weight of all the goodbyes that can never be said, that he’s had to deliver time and time again. “I can’t keep being this figure…” He tears himself away from his reflection and pushes his hands through his hair. Gabriel keeps staring. “It’s as if I’m… The Grim Reaper or something. You can see it in their eyes as I come up the path. They so scared of me… They don’t smile when I give them their mail anymore, they just leaf through it with this fear that deadens their eyes. If they don’t find the envelope there’s this… Horrific joy. They’ve survived another day only to be haunted again until I do my rounds, they wave you off with a sense that they don’t want you to come back. But if they find this… This goddamn envelope… It’s so simple, it’s just this bloody brown envelope but the instant they see it you can see their live collapse around them. You can actually see it! Just in their eyes, they’re suddenly completely gone… And they don’t say goodbye, they don’t say anything, they don’t even cry. They just vanish…”

“Freddie…”

“But it’s everyone on my round, even you… I could have to bring that envelope to you…” He stumbles at the realisation. “If Elias were to-“ “He won’t. You won’t bring one here Freddie, it’ll be over soon. It will…” He doesn’t add the ‘won’t it?’ to the end, but Frederick obviously knows it’s there because he gives a small smile, pulling his hat back on his head.

“I really should get back to my rounds. Or I’ll get in trouble.”

“If you need to come by again… Just do, I can provide a cup of tea. I mean that’s the least I can do…”

 

_Gabrielle,_

_I know I promised. Everyone promised, it would be over by Christmas, then the next. I know it seems like a while away yet, the leaves are only just leaving the trees here and how I know you’d love them if you saw them. But I don’t think I can get any leave, not long enough to make it back to you. It’s not what I wanted, for either of use but… Well I can’t discuss it here but right now it looks unlikely._

_I promise I will try harder next time, and I will make it up to you as soon as I can. Just you wait and see, even if it’s Christmas in July this year we will have a Christmas._

_I’m glad the harvest went well, it makes me proud to hear of you working the fields, keeping the country fed. I don’t believe it’s dull to hear about at all, most of what you hear from me is my thoughts which must be inexplicitly boring to read over and over._

_Claude tells me what I say is boring enough, though I’m pretty sure he’s trying to wind me up. He listens enough when I do go on one of my, what was it you called them, tirades? So, at least someone finds me interesting to listen to._

_I’m running out of paper so I’ll have to cut this short, but I loved the painting you included, to be able to see what you’ve been viewing every day in the fields makes me feel just a little closer._

_Until we are, yours,_

_Elias._

 

It’s his second Christmas alone, be it’s no less lonely than the first.

He had briefly considered inviting Frederick for Christmas dinner, but he’s not sure, despite the occasional cup of tea now, that he knows the boy well enough to invite him into his home. It does flicker that they’re both alone a Christmas, but he shakes the thought and returns to the small dinner he’s mustered for himself.

He has a tree, because it would feel empty without it, but decorating it hadn’t done much to lift his mood, it sparkles in the corner, with ribbons in red and white.

He drinks more than he should, absentmindedly sipping as he finishes cooking. Elias’s parents had suggested a maid when they had first moved into the house, and no doubt they had enough to pay for one should their services ever be required. But while Elias was here they had feared discovery as anything other than bachelor’s living together and now it seems wrong to bring someone into the home without his consent. So he makes do, cooking his own meals and cleaning when he has the time.

He eats his dinner staring at the empty chair across from him, then pours another glass of whiskey and sets the plate aside half finished. From the cupboard he pulls a small box, full of letters and postcards and one singular photograph of Elias in his military uniform. He stares at it until his vision tunnels, watery with tears. Then he digs through, going through letter by letter, pouring over slanting script, all the small notes on the back of silk cards, the words Elias writes sometimes daily as if they were just talking face to face after a long day at work rather than miles apart.

He considers going back to the recruitment office, seeing if they’ll take him now, now they need more men, see if he can fake his eyes being good enough to get in just to be anywhere near him. But he knows Elias would only scold him, and worry continuously once he made it across. And it’s getting worse, his vision, small flickers of light obscuring part of the image in front of him. So he settles on holding the picture close to his chest.

He’d received Elias’s Christmas greeting yesterday, he’d not yet received the small parcel of things from home, little luxuries, but he sent his best wishes and apologies again that he couldn’t be there.

Next time he promised, next time.

 

_Gabrielle,_

_I’m sure you will have remembered, much better than me, you always were better at dates. You get less caught up in the details of the here and now, you remember such things because you like to give times importance. Dates that changed your life was that what you said? I always thought you were a little bit of a hopeless romantic when you spoke of the party, of how we talked and talked, and how you knew what you wanted right then. And I would always chuckle and tease you for being soppy._

_Now perhaps I’m the soppy one now. But I hope this will reach you in time for that anniversary. The date nearly slipped by, but even if days slip by unnoticed somehow dates seem all the more important. It helps, when it’s raining or when it’s cold. The memories keep me warm you could say._

_I hope this reaches you well._

_Elias._

Gabriel ponders the letter in his hands, he’d nearly forgotten the date himself being so caught up in what’s going on right now, but somehow Elias remembered despite everything happening over there.

It’s their anniversary, of course it is. It’s not a proper anniversary, not that they could ever have one, but it’s the anniversary of when they met for the first time, when they fell into each other and kissed until they lost track of time.

It had been at a party that they’d been introduced, Gabriel shouldn’t have even been there, but he’d put on his best suit and snuck into a fancy Mayfair party. He’d struck up conversation with a man, who’d thought they might get along and so introduced them. They’d talked, mostly, jibing at each other occasionally. And Elias had that kind of look in his eye, flirty but unsure. It’s the kind of look Gabriel had recognised from those bars he went to, trying to pick up anyone to spend the night with. But this one is different, though his eye are hooded and searching as he watches Gabriel there’s some uncertainty in how to deal with the situation, whether to make a move or not. He pulls his lip back between his teeth slightly as he smiles, and Gabriel wants to kiss him right there but that would be inappropriate given the time and place.

‘Do you want to head off, it’s a little loud here…’

‘Um, well I have lodgings near here.’ Gabriel grins at the invitation. ‘If you’d like?’

‘Well we are having a rather good conversation…’

They sneak out, saying goodbye to the bare minimum of people, Elias feigns a headache when there’s a protest. They head through the streets of Mayfair, Elias belongs here, he walks exactly right, head at the exact right tilt, stride just so. For the first time Gabriel feels like an intruder here, but he’s been acting most of his adult life. Pretending he was supposed to be here, covering up the rougher cockney he was born with, putting on the only suit he owns for the fun of pretending he has a silver spoon.

‘You weren’t invited were you?’ Elias comments.

‘Of course I was, you think I was sneaking in?’

‘If you were they’ve let their guest list slip.’ He glances across with an amused look on his face.

‘What gave me away then?’

‘The suit, it’s last year’s style I’m afraid. But I’m glad you managed to sneak in nonetheless.’ He reaches a large black front door and slips a key in the lock. ‘You’re an interesting man.’

‘You would say that, you’ve probably never met anyone from the other side of London.’

‘I have, not usually with the audacity to actual sneak into parties.’ He opens another door and ushers Gabriel inside, then leans back against the wood. ‘I’m assuming you asked to leave for a reason.’

‘Mainly to figure out what your intentions were.’ Elias raises an eyebrow. ‘I couldn’t just come out and say it could I?’

‘Well I find you deeply interesting, with or without an advance.’

‘You want to keep talking?’

‘I’ll make you a coffee.’ Hs behaviour leaves Gabriel completely unsure, but he beckons him through to a living area, and puts a pot on the stove to boil the water. His eyes are still following him, their blue almost sultry, but he seems intent on talking. And so they do, they sit on a sofa and talk well into the night. Elias loosens his tie, leaving it to hang around his shoulders, the Gabriel loses his waistcoat. The sip coffee that gradually goes cold, and lean ever so slightly more.

‘Oh, it’s getting rather late…’ Elias looks up at the large clock by the wall.

‘Do you mind?’

‘No… I don’t think I do.’

‘Does that mean I might be permitted to stay? You don’t want to be walking through certain areas at this time.’

‘I’ll allow it if I might be able to see you again? Not just for tonight?’

‘That I can do.’

‘Good. Then can I do this?’ He leans across to bring their lips together, and that’s it. They sit there wrapped up together planting kisses on lips and nothing more, and they fall asleep like that, jackets discarded.

From there it had been a steady stream of meetings, in coffee houses, bars, the occasional dinner. Elias buys him a new suit at some point, and then about a year in he mentions that he’s moving.

‘It’s not far by any means, but it’s a nice place.’ Gabriel scoffs. ‘You could come. We can both be students, bachelor’s living together.’

It takes some convincing but he eventually agrees, and they make official what had basically been happening for months previously. The new place has a garden, and Gabriel paints the flowers there while Elias finishes his studies. It had been a few years now, and the flowers still bloom, the sun still hits the window just so at sunset, the rooms still hang with the smell of coffee and cigarette smoke.

Their anniversary… Is it even possible to call it that, amongst so many other dates that are gradually eclipsing it?

He lights up another cigarette, lost in memories.

 

_Gabrielle,_

_I’m sorry for the lack of communication over the last few days. Though I say that, and you probably hadn’t noticed with the amount of letters that I send. But to me it seems like an age since I put pen to paper._

_You must be returning to the farm soon, it’s nearly planting season. The fields here are much different, though I suppose the mud reminds me of home. Are you looking forward to getting back, you said everyone made good company. It makes me smile to think of you talking to everyone, you’re such a natural at it. It suits you, being at the centre of some debate or another, no matter what everyone else says._

_Claude put me forward for a promotion. It’s not much, only Second Lieutenant, but he says he thinks I can do it. I’ll be able to lead the men, and there you are at my ear telling me you bet I’ll enjoy being able to boss them around. But I want to be able to inspire these men, especially in such hard times. Claude says that’s while I’ll be perfect for it, though I’m not so sure._

_I’ve not had a promotion before, it feels remarkably agreeable, to be thought of in a time of need, to have someone respect you enough to consider you fit for the job._

_I’m going on about myself, I only intended this to be short but I can’t help but be excited. I’ll write again when I know more, I’m trying not to get too hopeful. And there you are again, telling me you’re shocked that I’m not being optimistic about the whole affair. It’s nice, to know exactly what you’d say in times like this, to know another that well._

_All my love,_

_Elias._

 

He realises in April that the colours are fading. He’d thought things had had a brief reprieve, the sparks in his vision had become fewer over the last month. But then he sits down to paint the tulips in the garden, because Elias wrote to him on the back of an embroidered card of spring time flowers. He’d looked between them, and the palette of watercolours on his lap unable to tell which colour is which. On the palette he knows, he knows where each sits, how much he’s used. But the green and the red are muddy, shades of brown and grey litter the tin. When he returns to the tulips they merge together, and he can’t tell which colour to even begin to use.

He hadn’t noticed, at first, working in the fields. Blues remained vivid, greens had perhaps been duller but it was hardly noticeable, not when you spent most of the day with your head down digging for fresh crops, planting those in season. He’d noticed the daffodils perhaps weren’t so bright, but he’d blamed it on the dull day. The embroidered card he’d been sent was not so colourful as the rest perhaps.

But now it’s undeniable, his palette reduced to a selection of sepia. He paints anyway, pulling the scene from his memory, when Elias had sat in the garden to do his work and Gabriel had given up on his own to paint him, waistcoat undone, hair golden.

He shows it to Frederick, when he arrives the next day with nothing but the need for a break. It’s mainly because he wants to check he didn’t paint the tulips in an odd colour, still getting used to the lack of division, but he pretends it’s not. He just doesn’t want to send a less than perfect picture to Elias.

“It’s lovely.” Frederick tells him, sipping a cup of tea as quickly as he can while still being companionable. Gabriel studies it like it’s vitally important. “Really, I am sure it will give him a boost.”

“I hope so, he deserves that at least.” After all his support, his loyalty, his goddamn love of his country.

How desperate he had been to sign up, to help protect people, help those over in Belgium who had been invaded. His smile when he told him he’d been accepted.

When Gabriel had realised, one late autumn evening, that Elias was fading from his view in the half light. How scared he had been when he realised how unclear Elias’s eyes were, how the lines of his face merged. He’d reached out to touch them, as if to check he was still there, solid and not a ghost.

‘Gabriel..?’

He’d not mentioned it at first, after all everything had been fine just earlier as they talked, every feature of the room had been perfect and nearly crisp. Now it seems darker than it is.

‘I just- I’m not sure if I can see right…’

‘Are you alright?’

‘Yes, yes I’m fine. I perfectly fine.’ He’d reassured him, placing a gentle kiss on his lips. He’d hoped he was, knew he wasn’t. It had been downhill from there, one day he’d walked into the edge of the door, left slightly ajar because he simply hadn’t seen it. Elias had patched up the cut on his cheek, and asked him to tell him if something was wrong.

‘There is, but I’m not sure what…’

Gabriel shakes his head, turning back to Frederick.

“I’m sorry I was away with the fairies.”

“I just said that I’d better get back to my rounds. I will see you again later in the week?”

“Of course. There’s always a cup of tea and company here.”

 

_Dear Gabrielle,_

_Thank you for your pictures, they brighten every week, each letter I open is with excitement waiting to see if there’s an extra bonus inside. The other men enjoy them too, they look forward to slices of home, the changing seasons, the countryside, any part of home. The colours especially, they help, especially right now._

_Claude was injured earlier in the week, just after my last letter. We’ve not heard much news but what we have heard has been good. It seems likely he will recover, though whether he will return is still unclear._

_It is strange without his presence, he was such a light here. Always chatting, joking, telling stories. I will miss him, though not as much as I miss you. I think of your eyes, your curls, your lips and try to place them perfectly in my mind. I doubt I do you justice, and now I can just hear you telling me I’m being ridiculous and that you are not that attractive, not really. But you are, to me, quite beautiful and indescribable for someone like me who is most un-artistic._

_But when I get home I will tell you, over and over, how beautiful you are and how much love I hold for you. But for now this letter will have to do._

_Until we can speak again, with all my love,_

_Elias._

 

Frederick shuffles through his pile of papers absentmindedly as he gets ready for the day ahead. It’s the usual stack of letters, telegrams, nothing too out of the ordinary. He places them down for a moment to button up his jacket, and his eyes alight on a familiar address. He pauses, grabbing the pile of envelopes, a few flutter to the ground.

“Oh… Oh no no.” He looks up at the room in front of him. The other boys are still collecting up their rounds, putting on their uniforms. “I need someone else to do my round for me.” He says, loudly, shakily. “I just need to, I’ll swap I just can’t do mine today.”

Everyone’s staring at him like he’s gone slightly mad, he thinks perhaps he looks it. He jacket is half unbuttoned, a stack of letters messily in his hand. He bites his lip, trying to calm himself a little.

“Just for today, please…”

“I can do it.” Someone at the back of the room tells him, and he shifts slightly to view them. He’s lounging on a chair at the back of the room, leaning on one arm, his jacket is undone, shirt un tucked, his hair is perhaps a little too long. He stands, older than the rest, taller and broader. “We can swap for today if you can’t do yours.” He holds out a hand toward Frederick. “Just tell me where to go.”

 

_Gabrielle,_

_Be strong my love, I’ll be back with you soon. I saved up some leave and the next time I can I will be over to see you, to hold you._

_Don’t give up on your paintings, they’re so beautiful and I know how much they mean to you. So you simply must not let that go. I know you, I know you can find a way around this. Perhaps a black and white watercolour would work better if you worry about the colours but your last painting of the roses was beautiful. You don’t need to feel like you have to hide these things from me, I am still here for you no matter how far apart we are._

_I want you to tell me everything when I return, so I can help even a little._

_If I’m quiet over the next week or so do not fret, we’re just a little busy. But I will write as soon as I am able._

_All my love,_

_Elias._

 

Gabriel has almost come to look forward to the knock on the door in the morning, it’s usually later, nearer to midday. But it means some new company, aside from encounters in the fields that are most often without conversation, both parties too caught up in their work.

As a consequence he hurries to the door, through a well-worn route. He’s managed to paint a little more over the previous week, taking Elias’s suggestion he’d bought himself a new set of grayscale paints, and some sepia browns too. It’s given him a new kind of freedom, painting the scenes as he sees them, now rather than how he feels they should look. He sends them to Elias occasionally, with a note or letter wishing him well. He’s heard little, but for the first time he’s not too concerned. There are ups and downs in communication, but Elias will get back to him soon.

He opens the door in a slightly hurried manner, only to find a complete stranger standing outside his door.

He’s wearing the right uniform, though his top button is undone, his hat at the wrong angle. His hair too is completely wrong, it’s too long, he’s too tall, his smile isn’t quite right.

“Good morning.” He’s cockney, definitely cockney, a far cry from Frederick’s west London accent. “Frederick couldn’t make it this morning. He sends his apologies.”

Gabriel doesn’t know why but his stomach drops there and then, but he gets out a small ‘that’s alright.’

“Here, your post.” He holds out the couple of envelopes. Gabriel takes them and flicks through. The envelope looks too formal, completely out of place.

“Oh…” He breathes, staring at it. Then he realises the post-boy is still standing there and he remembers what Frederick said months ago ‘They don’t say goodbye, they don’t say anything’. So he looks up, and gives a nod and a small smile to the person in front of him. “Thank you, tell Frederick I’ll see him tomorrow yes? And a good morning…”

“Of course. Good morning to you.” He waits until the man has vanished down the path before he retreats into the house, casting aside the rest of the post to focus his attention of the brown envelope.

He’d never thought he’d receive one of these, he hadn’t even realised that he had been placed as Elias’s next of kin, even without the stupid belief that he was immortal, like every young man feels. And so it doesn’t quite seem real to him, he could be anyone else but himself holding an envelope in his hands bearing only bad news about the one they love. But he isn’t, he’s still very much him and this is something that is definitely happening. He peels back the seal, pulls out the paper and reads the words that seal their fate.

Only then does he allow himself to cry, tears blurring the writing in his hands, falling on it. He weeps bitterly for the time apart, the time together, the time he’s spent these last few days so happy when Elias was God knows where but very much dead.

The words of the letter mean little to him. Bravery seems to translate only to stupidity, an act that kept him away from Gabriel permanently.

He turns his face into the arm of the sofa, that long since stopped smelling of Elias’s cologne, but he can pretend, and he lets the tears flow until his head aches and all that’s left are empty gasps.

 

_To Mr Gabriel Lyndon,_

_I deeply regret to inform you that 2 nd Lieutenant Elias Lyndon died in action on 6th July 1916. He fell bravely leading the troops from the front. Lord Kitchener expresses his sympathy._

_From Secretary, War Office._

There’s a knock at the door, and he glances up from where he’s sat on the sofa. He’s not expecting the maid round today, his deteriorating eye sight making cleaning too hard now to maintain the house by himself. It’s late in the day, so it can’t be Frederick, coming back out of his shell again a little now, willing to stay more than a hello. He pushes himself off the sofa, weaves his way through the memorised maze that he can now just about do with his eyes shut – soon, he thinks, he won’t have to shut them for that effect.

It’s been months now, since that fateful little telegram with such simple words. Such goddamn simple words that could be written in less than a minute, that probably meant nothing to those writing them but that had torn his life apart. He pushes the thought away, as he often does, and reaches for the door handle.

There’s a figure in the doorway, silhouetted by the low level of the sun. Male he thinks, dark haired, but he can’t tell much else yet.

“Good afternoon?”

“Oh, I’m sorry I was looking for Gabrielle?”

“You- Do you know Elias?” Gabriel realises, then catches himself. “Knew…”

“I’m Claude, I was in the same division.” Gabriel nods, stepping aside.

“Did you want to come in? I’m his brother, Gabriel.” Claude brushes past him, and steps into the living room.

“What a coincidence.” Claude comments. “With the names.” Gabriel answers with a small ‘mmm’ skimming over the subject.

“Would you like a drink at all?”

“Don’t trouble yourself.” Gabriel gestures for him to sit down.

“No, no. Tea?”

“That would be lovely.” He nods, exhaling. The kitchen can be somewhat of a task for him, but he brightens the lights and that helps him find the shapes at the end of the tunnel. He’s hoping to get all the basic motions down before the shapes fade completely, so he won’t need someone. He knows Elias would have been wonderful, perhaps a little too doting but he was always over enthusiastic. The word ‘was’ makes his breath catch, all the memories come flooding back in one go as they’re prone to doing. He breathes out against a fresh set of tears that still keep coming even now, despite what people say about grief and recovery.

He brings up the tray, a little jug and bowl that he’s pretty sure match the cups, and a plate of biscuits.

“It’s not much, I haven’t been entertaining recently. Help yourself to milk and sugar.” He tells him as he places the tray down.

“Thank you…” Claude smiles, he thinks. It sounds like he does.

“You said you were looking for Gabrielle?”

“Yeah, Elias never stopped talking about her. I just thought I should come and well… Talk about everything.”

“She uh,” He pauses looking for an excuse. “She went back home, to her parents.”

“Oh I see, that makes sense.” He stirs a spoon of sugar into his tea, it rattles and pings against the cup.

“You can say it all to me though, I don’t know if she’ll be back but we write.” Claude shifts, sipping his tea.

“I just wanted to say what a great man he was. We met when he first arrived, that was a good couple of years ago wasn’t it?”

“Yes he did mention he’d made a friend. He always spoke fondly.”

“I was Lieutenant, I pushed for his promotion because I thought he would be the best for the job. Because he was so passionate, but so caring of the other troops. We were all friends I supposes you could say, not just because we were thrown together but genuinely fond. When I was injured and forced to retire from the front he stepped into my position, and he led the troops. He, I’m told that he went over first…”

“Of course he would, that would be very typical of him. Head first into danger, putting himself in the firing line instead of others.” He sniffs.

“I shouldn’t have brought it up.”

“No, it’s fine. Talk about him.” He has a soothing voice, and he can imagine Elias listening to him in the trenches, with that intent look he had, all eyes blazing. He finds himself closing his eyes to imagine the other man is here, listening in his uniform.

“I also brought Elias’s personal effects with me. I thought the family might want them.” Gabriel glances up, then goes to hold out a hand.

“May I..?” Claude pauses, then he digs in his bag. It rustles as he pulls out what Gabriel presumes is a stack of papers, it comes into focus as it reaches his hand. He holds them close, feeling the paper, how it folds, where it’s worn and weakened. He thinks of Elias reading them, over and over, folding and unfolding. “Was there a book?”

“Yes, there’s a couple more things.” More digging, the book of poems is recovered, cracked and slightly muddy. There’s Elias’s razor in its tin, his regimental badges cold beneath his fingers. He exhales, holding back his tears. He begins shuffling through the papers, there’s letter after letter, the small paintings he sent that are dulled and faded by time and his vision. There are unopened letters he recognises as his own. At the bottom he finds a final unopened envelope, without stamps, and frowns. He places the rest aside, bringing it closer to his face, to his 'good' right eye, to find a single _G_ in Elias’s curling script. He turns it over, reaching from the letter opener to slit the top open.

“I um…” He looks up to Claude, as he tries to read the writing, but it blends into the paper. “Could you… I can’t read it… I can’t see the writing.”

“Oh… Of course, I didn’t realise.”

“No it’s just my eyes, it’s progressive I can still see things but it’s not clear or… It’s why I couldn’t go to the front.” Claude nods, then catches himself, even though Gabriel can see him.

“Here, allow me.” He takes the letter from Gabriel’s hand carefully. He reads, the words Elias never wanted Gabriel to hear washing over him and he lets himself cry, silent tears that run down his cheeks and splash on his hands.

“You really loved him didn’t you?” Claude asks after a moment, folding the completed letter. The question comes as such a surprise that he finds himself answering truthfully.

“Yes, very much.”

 

_Gabrielle,_

_I’m writing these words hoping you will never read them, but I’ve been told out here such things are a necessity. So, I hope next time these words see the light of day I will be tearing them letter by letter and scattering them to the wind._

_But, if fate has gotten in the way and you get this without me being there then I have a few things that I need to say to you._

_Firstly, be strong. I know things are hard, but one day they won’t seem so grey. I remember the day you got the diagnosis, I remember how scared you were but I know you can do this. I know you will find a way, with everything, and I only wish I could be there to help you find it. But I can’t directly so I’ll give you my advice, that optimistic advice you hate but secretly I think you love that about me. Just don’t give up, keep pushing, keep fighting._

_Secondly, remember that I died fighting for something I believe in. I know that probably doesn’t sound much comfort now but it wasn’t for nothing. Don’t ever think that._

_Finally, though I have so much more to say. I need to tell you how much I already miss your smile, and the shade of blue of your eyes and those dark curls. Tell you how much you make me happy, you make me laugh, you help me be a little less serious and that helps me so much. How I watch when you draw, though I pretend to work, and how you playing the piano is the most beautiful thing I’ve seen. But, I love you. I’ve loved you since we walked along the beach front in Brighton, because you suggested we take a day trip. And it was getting dark, in the way late summer evenings do, and we ate ice cream as we walked and you managed to get it on your nose. And you looked so embarrassed when I pointed it out but in the half-light with the pink across your cheekbones I couldn’t help falling head over heels. I couldn’t tell you, of course, not until much later, but you deserved to know here._

_I have so much I need to say to you, so much that can’t be put into one letter. All those years together, and those we can’t have. I regret those, I regret these days we’re spending apart. But I have to believe in my heart that, one way or another, I will see you again. Because I will, I’ll hold those hands and stare into those eyes and tell you as many times as I can that I love you._

_Until I do, and with all the love I could ever give, and more than I ever imagined I could,_

_Your Elias._

**Author's Note:**

> This is a sort of... A background to In Your Best Friends Arms? Not a literal background, but it comes before it. You'll see :L  
> Gabriel suffers from Non-Syndromic Rentinitis Pigmentosa that causes gradual sight deterioration 
> 
> Title from Perhaps by Vera Brittain: http://noglory.org/index.php/multimedia/poetry-and-spoken-word/221-vera-brittain-perhaps


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